


A Re-Education

by InvocationAndToccata



Series: Be Still With Me [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Cock Warming, M/M, Muzzles, Re-Education, Road Trips, Stockholm Syndrome, Subspace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29057022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvocationAndToccata/pseuds/InvocationAndToccata
Summary: Snapshots of Malcolm and Paul's life together in the five month gap before Malcolm is found in Be Still With Me.Lengths will vary, tags will be updated as needed.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Paul Lazar | John Watkins
Series: Be Still With Me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2131779
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	1. Discipline

The light from the afternoon sun filters through the window of the log cabin, warming the floor next to his spot. 

  
The leather straps buckled behind his head are only a smidge too tight, just enough to remind him that it’s there, but not too much to be uncomfortable. The now-worn leather fits snugly against his face, locking his jaw shut. His hands are free, but Malcolm won’t release the straps. Only John can do that. John knows when Malcolm needs some time to reflect on his actions, and day by day it’s getting easier to clear his mind when he’s wearing his muzzle. 

  
When John had first silenced him Malcolm felt angry and humiliated, but that was before he accepted that Gil would never look for him. The one and only trip he’d taken outside of this cabin where his former life imploded in a ball of pleasure and shame is seared into his memory, so now there is only John. 

  
He knows it’s been a few hours since John muzzled him, an offhand comment about the quality of John’s macaroni cheese. It was a silly comment, and Malcolm couldn’t have known the recipe was his grandmothers. Even now, the impulse to say what’s on his mind still lingers, a relic from his old life. It’s not his worst comment, and if he’s lucky John might let him out before the night ends. 

  
Words are a gift. But the only words that can exist are the ones that please John. He may have missed his target today, but that doesn’t mean he can’t try harder tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later and Malcolm was still in awe of the view outside his window. 

Two days since John had unlocked the door to his room for the final time and announced that he had settled on a new place to start their life together. 

Idaho. 

Malcolm has never been to Idaho, but has seen enough pictures to know that it will be unlike anywhere he has lived before. Trees, open fields, cows and the odd eagle had all been exciting things to spot as John drove the van carrying the entirety of their lives across the country. He can barely feel the chains around his ankles, a little insurance for John that Malcolm won’t try to leave him. 

John doesn’t need to do that though. Malcolm has no intention of hurling himself out of a moving van. 

The rules for their travel were simple. Drive all day, no stopping, and Malcolm is not allowed to leave the van until they rest for the night. They never stay at a motel, John sticking to the rest stops along the highway. The five minute stretch and toilet break when they pull up for the night is the only time Malcolm leaves the van all day. He doesn’t mind that though. 

The cosy space of the van is a comfort after being trapped in the cabin for so long. No. Not trapped. Cared for. He’s not sure how he would feel outside in the world right now. Eyes silently judging him for choosing to stay with John. They wouldn’t understand the connection they share. Each night John tethers himself to Malcolm so he can’t run, but John doesn’t know how grounding his touch is to Malcolm. How the other man’s smoky scent wraps around him as good as a blanket when he begins to doubt his mission. 

He needs to stay. 

As the van crosses the state line into Idaho Malcolm begins to look forward to their new home. He has the utmost faith that John will find them the perfect home, maybe one where Malcolm can walk outside, away from prying eyes. Daydreams of a cabin set amongst rolling hills keep him occupied until a feeling in his gut rips him away from his reverie. He needs a bathroom, and it’s not going to wait until they stop for the night. 

It must have been his breakfast John forced him to eat. The take-away pack of eggs and sausage loaded with cheese had made his stomach turn when John had delivered it back to the van, and despite Malcolm’s protests John insisted he start eating more than just toast and liquorice. To please his partner Malcolm had eaten every last bite, but his body was making its thoughts on the matter known and he was out of time. 

“J-John, I need a bathroom. I’m going to be sick.” 

“You know the rules Malcolm, no stopping until the sun sets.” 

Malcolm’s stomach heaves and the spicy sausage heads in the wrong direction, the pepper burning the back of his throat. “I don’t want to mess up the van. I can’t hold-“ he can’t even finish the sentence as a louder hiccup rents itself from his body, one loud enough that causes John to do a comical double take as they roll down the highway. The pallor of Malcolm’s skin, the sheen of sweat on his forehead, all are clues that this is about to get messy, fast. 

“Okay darling, we’ll pull in here.” 

‘Here’ is a rest stop more luxurious than the places they’d stopped the two previous nights. Shaded picnic benches surrounded the car park, and the facilities gleamed brightly in the morning sun. As they pulled in Malcolm noted that there were three other vehicles in the car park, not something John would allow in the evenings either. 

Malcolm’s focus quickly returns to the row of toilets, whose services are required more urgently with every passing second. John parks as close to the facilities as he can, angling the passenger door away from the other cars so they can’t see him messing with the chains on the floor. 

By this point Malcolm’s breathing is shallow and fast, he knows he only has seconds before he will be covered in breakfast. John hasn’t gifted him with a second shirt yet, he can not afford to throw up on the only one he has. 

“Okay sweetheart, here we go.” John reaches around Malcolm’s waist and half carries him to the stalls while Malcolm focuses entirely on not vomiting. 

They make it in time. John backs out of the stall and once he’s checked that the toilets are otherwise unoccupied he leaves Malcolm to his business. 

Malcolm flushes the toilet and wobbles unsteadily to the sink, his stomach undecided as to whether it has finished rejecting the greasy meal from this morning. He can’t help but gasp at his own reflection when he catches it in the mirror, Malcolm barely recognises himself. The scruff on his chin is longer than anything he ever chose to grow before his new life started, his hair was longer and hung limply in greasy clumps.

Is this who he is now?

His stomach lurches again and he only just makes it back to the toilet before more of his stomach contents pop up to say hello. The door behind him squeaks open and a familiar voice asks if he’s okay, the sound of retching is his only reply.

When Malcolm finally emerges from the bathroom John appraises him with a piercing look before asking, “Can we get back on the road now?”

With his heart racing and still feeling woozy Malcolm knows John won’t like the answer. “I’m so sorry John, I need a little bit longer.”

John’s lips purse together, but his diminutive frame must be convincing enough because his gaze softens a little as he answers, “Okay. Just a little bit longer. No talking to anyone though.”

Malcolm bobs his head slightly to agree to his terms.

The pair pick a picnic bench and watch the families and couples driving in and out of the rest stop. It’s the most people Malcolm has seen in one place since…since the day with Gil and the team.

Memories of the day flood back, and the sense of loss and grief hit him like a freight train. He hasn’t thought about that day in a long time.

A hole opens up in his heart, one that had closed a long time ago. Out of necessity.

Oblivious to the maelstrom of emotions tumbling around in his head John stands up and stretches with a satisfying sigh. A hand locks on to Malcolm’s shoulder as he reaches down to him, declaring “I’m gonna go use the bathroom, then we’ll get back on the road. What are you gonna do while I’m gone?

“Not talk to anyone.” Malcolm mumbles.

“Atta boy.” John claps him on the shoulders and heads back to the toilet block.

Malcolm stares out at the parents relaxing at the park benches while the kids work out their pent up energy with envy. It was a life he will never have, not since he gave himself over to John. His path was forged anew, following behind John the day he said yes in that warehouse all those weeks ago. While he had no chains binding his feet, they felt like cement under the table and he wouldn’t dare move.

Lost in his thoughts he doesn’t notice the elderly man sidling up to his table until it’s too late.

“Morning! Beautiful part of the world, isn’t it?” The chipper man waves from across the table.

“Yes, sir, it is.” Malcolm replies.

“You don’t look so well, are you okay?”

“Bad breakfast. I’ll be fine.” Short and sweet usually shuts any conversation down. Not this time.

The man pulls out his phone and opens an internet tab. “That’s terrible. Can you tell me where you stopped for breakfast? I’ll make sure my wife and I avoid the place if we’re headed in the same direction. The name's Brian by the way.”

Malcolm racks his brain for the name of the place that was stamped on the container. “Uh, I can’t remember. Sorry.” He’s now acutely aware of how long John has been gone. There’s no telling what punishment John will have in store for him if this person is still at the table when he returns.

“Well, which direction did you travel from?”

“The east.”

Brian groans at the development. “We’re headed east! This is our route, did you stop on any of these roads?” A weathered hand reaches out to him with a map on his phone. It's too bright though, and Malcolm can't see a thing. 

"I can't see the map, I'm really-"

"Here, take it!" Brian thrusts the phone towards Malcolm, giving him no choice but to take it. The hefty weight of the device felt strange, it had been so long since he had held one. The route highlighted wasn't the way they had come, but an errant thought crosses Malcolm’s mind. 

He never got to say goodbye to his mother. 

While she isn't perfect, she deserves a goodbye from her son, to let her know that he’s okay. 

Malcolm stares at the screen a little longer, transfixed at the life-line held in the palm of his hand. He makes a choice, while he still has time. 

"You're missing the Cafe. My phone doesn't have service here, would you mind if I made a call?" 

"Sure, just as long as you’re not calling London or something. I don’t have the charges for that.” 

“No sir, not London. Thank you.” Malcolm begins to dial his mother’s number with shaking hands, he’s one digit away before four words strike terror into his heart. 

“What’s going on here, darling?” 

The energy he’d put into remembering his mother’s number had missed the crunch of gravel underfoot as John returned. The junkyard killer’s smile would only fool those who don’t know him, it’s one Malcolm has seen many times before. 

“I...was helping Brian avoid the place we stopped for breakfast. I was just checking the route.” Malcolm launches the phone back to Brian as if it was smothered in lava. All under John’s watchful eye. 

“Oh, you mean Betsy’s? Yeah, I’d be driving right past that one. Did a number on my partner here.” John claps his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder and it takes all his self control not to flinch. He knows he can’t show any fear in front of Brian. His fear could get the man killed. 

“Yeah, I have to say you still look a little green around the gills.” Brian agrees. 

“Can we go, please?” Malcolm begs, wanting to put as much space between them and Brian as quickly as possible. 

“If you think you’re up to it, then sure, we can get going. It was nice to meet you, best of luck with the drive ahead Brian.” John helps Malcolm up from the table with a hand on his elbow. To an outsider it would appear as a pillar of support, for Malcolm he knew it was a warning to stay in line. 

The pair shuffle slowly back towards their van as fast as Malcolm’s wobbly legs will carry him until Brian calls out behind them “Did you still want to make that call?” 

Both men freeze at the utterance for the question, but for completely different reasons. Before John can answer for him Malcolm replies, “It’s fine, I’ll just wait until the next town. Thank you, Brian.” 

Malcolm starts up his shuffle again and after a moment John follows his lead. They remain silent until they reach the van, where John lifts Malcolm into the passenger seat and issues an order dripping with fury. “Put those chains on  **now** .” 

The door slams with such force that it rocks the vehicle, and Malcolm waits until it settles before reaching down to clasp the cuffs back on to his ankles. John pulls back out onto the highway in silence and waits until they are at speed before the interrogation starts. 

“Remind me Malcolm, what is your purpose in life?”

“Obey your command, He says, because I took an oath before God.” The words fly out in a rush, seared into his memory from the teachings in the cabin. 

“I commanded you not to talk to anyone.” John’s tone is seething. This is bad. 

“He talked to me. I tried to stop him, but he just kept talking.” 

“And what about that phone call, hmm? What phone call did you want to make Malcolm?” 

“I...wanted to call my mother. To say goodbye.” 

Malcolm’s answer doesn’t soothe John’s anger. “I told you there was no going back. I warned you not to call anyone. I’m so disappointed. I thought we were happy.” 

“I am happy with you, really.” Malcolm assures him. “I wouldn’t have told her where we are going.” 

“But they would have traced the call to the state, which would be more than they had yesterday. You Just. Don’t. Think. Malcolm.” 

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” 

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t.” Nothing good ever comes after John makes promises like these. 

Unable to bear the anxiety crushing down on his chest Malcolm plucks up the courage to ask the question that he needs answering. 

“What will you do?” he asks in a small voice. 

John’s expression is unforgiving. “You’ve proven that you’re not ready to share a home with me. I had a beautiful place picked out, grass and everything. No cell reception, just the two of us. But after this I can’t trust you to stay put while I’m at work. So, you’ll be staying in the junkyard until you earn my trust back. Until you earn the privilege of the home I have created for you.” 

The thought of returning to a place so cold and unforgiving sends chills down Malcolm’s spine. “No. Please. I’ll be good, I promise. I serve you, and our mission. Please.” 

“Well, you should have thought about the consequences when you tried to make that phone call. This was your choice, little Malcolm. Now you need to prove yourself to me again.” 

“I’ll do it.” Malcolm affirms. “Whatever it takes.” Malcolm places a hand on John’s thigh and slides it down towards his crotch. The movement elicits a smirk from John. 

“Well that’s a start. But I’m going to need more.” John glances at his watch. “We got three more hours until we reach Boise. We’re going to recite some of your teachings until we get there. 

Still weak from the food episode, Malcolm is relieved that the punishment is one that only requires his memory. “Yes John.” 

The rest of the journey is spent parroting back John’s favourite passages from the Bible about service and devotion, and in no time Boise rises up into view from the highway. Malcolm drinks in every natural wonder he can, filing them away for him to recall them later when he longs to see something other than twisted metal and discarded appliances. 

The next phase of his journey with John was just beginning. 


	3. The Junkyard Office

Malcolm stares blankly ahead in his favorite spot on the floor in the junkyard’s office. It’s the at the furthest limit of his room so he can be the first thing that John sees when he opens the door. When they had arrived in Idaho John had redesigned the shed to create a small living space for Malcolm. Malcolm had eight feet of space at the end with the toilet and basin. John had moved in a chair and a sleeping bag for him, and this was where he lived. His partner didn’t trust him with any kind of appliances so he had to wait for cold soup and the odd milkshake to sustain him. Comforts were few and far between, but his home wasn’t designed to make him feel comfortable. John provides this sixty square feet of space to repent for his sins on the side of the road. To repent for the sin of holding a phone.

It was a stupid mistake, one he regrets every day.

Time passes slowly on some days, quickly on others. The background hum of the junkyard occasionally lulls him into a fitful sleep. On a good day when the wind was blowing Malcolm could hear the sounds of classic rock carried on the breeze from John’s radio.

His whole day consisted of waiting to see if John needed him. Every morning Malcolm washed up in his sink, hoping to look presentable enough. His hair hadn’t been washed in weeks and slicked back easily behind his ears, luckily for him that was a look that John was very much into. Sometimes a job at the junkyard required a second pair of hands, and Malcolm was always willing to help. He wore the grease smudges on his blue coveralls with pride, feeling wanted by his partner. On many days John needed help to relax after a big day. Malcolm was ready and willing to help with that too.

It’s early afternoon and the door flies open. Malcolm scrambles onto the balls of his feet, ready to spring into action. They’d been working on an RV deconstruction this past week, and Malcolm had hoped that John had wanted to continue with the progress today.

“My Malcolm, always so eager.” John says by way of greeting, a rare smile splitting his face.

Malcolm’s heart soars at the praise. “I thought you might need my help on that RV, I wanted to be ready.”

“Oh, I always need your help. Just not that kind. To the desk. Now.” John orders, his clipped voice warning of swift retribution if not followed. Malcolm shuffles quickly to the large wooden desk and crawls into the space where John would spread his legs, facing outwards and staring at the empty chair. The chair soon to be occupied by John. Malcolm rolls his shoulders and cricks his neck, preparing himself for his afternoon activity.

John needs help relaxing, and Malcolm’s mouth is the only thing that does the job.

As he settles into his space John’s boots hit the ground with a thud and the chair is pulled back for a moment before John sinks into it with a sigh. He reaches down to his pants and unzips the denim jeans he’s wearing, releasing his cock in between his legs. Malcolm eyes it hungrily but waits until John is ready to begin. Old bruises long faded remind him what happens if he tries to move without John’s permission.

“You ready, little Malcolm? I’ve been craving your sweet little mouth all day.”

“Yes John, I live to obey you.” Malcolm takes a moment to bow his head, to prove his willingness to submit.

“Of course you do. No blow job today, I’m in a warming mood.”

“I understand.” Malcolm keeps his head bowed until he feels the chair moving towards him. As the edge of the chair meets his face Malcolm lifts his chin and takes John’s length into his mouth. He jostles slightly and with a few gentle sucks ensures he has swallowed as much of his partner as he can. Once he’s certain he can’t take any more Malcolm rests his head on John’s thigh with a sigh. This is where he belongs. It feels so good to be needed, to be able to help John unwind after a long day.

“Good boy, so good for me Malcolm. I have a lot of work today, do not disturb me.”

Malcolm lays absolutely still, not even acknowledging John’s request with a murmur. Other bruises remind him of that lesson too.

With his partner fully engrossed in work Malcolm drifts into his subspace. In his life before Malcolm never used to seek out physical touch and compensated for it with work. Now he has nobody else Malcolm had come to crave the physical contact he and John share. Occasionally John would run his rough hand through Malcolm’s hair as he sits there, his touch combined with the faint smell of sweat and oil was comforting and helped to ground him.

As Malcolm drifts down his mind stops for a moment to daydream about his favorite place in the world, and imagines himself there.

Their home. The one he hopes to earn the right to live in one day. He got to stay in it for one night before John could pick up the keys to the junkyard. John only let him stay in the living room that night anchored to a bolt in the wall by his ankle, but Malcolm spent all night at the window, drinking in the space that lay tantalizingly close on the other side of the smudged glass. The trees surrounding the open field rustled gently with the breeze, and it was the closest he’s felt to peace in months.

Malcolm holds the image of the sun breaking over the green grass at day break in his mind’s eye as he drifts down further into sub space. He can feel the warmth on his face as he holds John’s cock in his mouth, his hole filled sublimely and his life filled with purpose.

There’s no way of telling how much time passes, in his space Malcolm doesn’t register the pain in his knees or the ache in his jaw. All that matters is that John’s cock is as warm as long as he wants it to be. Malcolm occasionally sucks a little to regain his grip around John, stilling whenever he senses a twitch from John. While he may not be capable of much right now, he remembers John’s instruction well enough.

Eventually the hand running through his hair trails down his jaw not resting on John and tucks itself under his chin.

“Very good Malcolm, I’m finished.”

John’s signal to stop is always the same, and Malcolm pulls away dreamily with a gentle moan of pleasure and a satisfied smile at a job well done. He’ll stretch his jaw when John leaves. John pushes away from the desk and redresses himself without any conversation. He knows Malcolm isn’t any good for talking immediately after any office work.

When Malcolm eventually comes out of subspace the light in the shed is fading. He must have been down there for hours. He clears his throat and waits for John’s piercing gaze to hit him before asking his question.

“Was I good enough?”

Malcolm doesn’t vocalize the rest of the question. He doesn’t have to. He asks at the end of every day, hoping for a different answer each time.

John’s expression softens, and he walks back over to Malcolm to help him to his feet. The taller man cups his hand to Malcolm’s cheek and offers a small smile. Malcolm’s heart leaps a little in his chest, this smile is warmer than ones he is usually afforded.

Today might be the day.

“You were very good today Malcolm, but I haven’t got the house ready for you just yet. You think you can wait another day for me?”

“Oh John.” Malcolm falls against John with relief, tears of happiness well up and threaten to spill over. “I will wait as long and you want me to. I obey you.”

“I know you do, little Malcolm. Let’s get you locked in for the night, and I’ll get you some dinner.”

John and Malcolm walk over to his sleeping bag, and Malcolm waits patiently while John fishes out the metal cuff and fastens it above his ankle. Once he’s checked it’s secure, he rises to his feet and retrieves a can of soup and a bread roll from the kitchenette opposite his desk. John sets it down in front of Malcolm as per usual, then to the man’s surprise John cradles his face once again and plants a gentle kiss on Malcolm’s lips, murmuring huskily in his ear, “One more night Malcolm, then you can come home with me.”

Malcolm wills himself to hold it together while John is still here. He doesn’t want the man to know how much this will mean to him. He needs to be strong. “Until tomorrow.” is all he answers with.

After managing a few mouthfuls of the soup Malcolm settles into his sleeping bag, dreaming of fields and trees. 

Tomorrow he may be able to touch them. 


End file.
